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Harvard — like other elite schools — is perceived as home to America’s best and brightest.

The myth that Harvard has a monopoly on genius is rooted in two core beliefs: that Harvard College admits the best applicants and that its world-class academics then produce world-class graduates. Neither are true.

The first belief is undermined by Harvard’s notoriously arbitrary and indirect admissions process, which relies on a host of factors unrelated to achievement. With acceptance letters conditioned by opaque preferences like whether your parents attended or how well you play the oboe, it’s difficult to conclude that the median student at Harvard is of a higher caliber than those at other top 50 schools in the United States.

Even if Harvard’s criteria do select for talented students, the skyrocketing number of high-quality applicants flooding the system means it’s no guarantee that the average admitted class is stronger than many schools perceived as less prestigious. Roughly 30,000 applicants annually score in the top one percent of the SAT and ACT — for the former test, equivalent to a low 1500 — but there are fewer than 20,000 slots across all Ivy Plus colleges. That’s how you end up with schools like Boston College or Emory University, ranked substantially lower than Harvard accepting classes of freshman, boasting average SAT scores only 10 or 20 points lower.

Additionally, between the 2014-15 and 2021-22 admission cycles, the share of students applying to greater than 10 colleges via the Common App jumped from eight percent to 17 percent, propelled largely by a marked increase in the number of top schools to which wealthy applicants apply. At the epicenter of this frenzy, Harvard saw its applicant pool soar from 12,189 in 1990 to over 40,000 in 2024.

To manage this problem of abundance, schools have to rely on much more arbitrary ‘holistic’ criteria far more distant from academic ability.

Most top universities, including Harvard, appear to have reduced quantitative metrics like grades and standardized test scores to thresholds, relying on holistic criteria to break ties between the many students who clear them. The strikingly similar average SAT score of admitted classes at the top 50 schools offers evidence for this theory.

Compared with test scores, essays, extracurriculars, and recommendations — the core qualitative components — are highly susceptible to manipulation. With access to private tutors, college counselors, and, now, AI tools like ChatGPT, students — particularly the wealthy — carefully craft their applications to align these preferences. (Admissions officers claim they can see through the polish, but some evidence shows otherwise.)

The upshot is that while academics set a baseline, the surge of qualified candidates and the growing potential to game the admissions process cast doubt on whether the average Harvard student is exceptional compared to peers at other top 50 schools.

Now to the second belief: That even if Harvard accepts a class of great — but not otherworldly — students, this lucky band is transmogrified into geniuses by four years of a transformative academic experience.

The trouble with this theory? Academics at Harvard are just not as central as they once were. Some excellent pieces have been written on this subject, including recently by the Editorial Board admitting (a touch hyperbolically) that “Nobody Pays Attention in Class at Harvard.” Indeed, since 1960, the average study time at colleges nationwide has fallen by more than a third.

And as students have flocked from the liberal arts toward more technical fields, Harvard’s comparative advantage in education has diminished. For example, in 2008, the combined number of Harvard students studying applied math, computer science, and statistics was 204; in 2024, it is 1,232, fueled mostly by a corresponding decline in the humanities. This seismic shift from learning through intimate small-group discussions with renowned professors to a standardized curriculum accessible to anyone with a $100 textbook renders a Harvard education relatively less unique.

All the while, cheating has become ubiquitous, exacerbated by the dual effects of Covid and ChatGPT. In The Crimson’s latest senior survey, 47.2 percent of respondents in the Class of 2024 confessed to cheating while at Harvard, up twofold from 2023. At the same time, rampant grade inflation has undermined the pursuit of academic excellence by making As easy to attain and rendering GPAs increasingly meaningless.

In other words, if academic rigor once gave Harvard its edge, that edge is becoming duller with every passing year.

There is a caveat to the myth of Harvard: The upper bound of students here is likely among the highest in the world. While the median Harvard student may be on par with students at other top institutions, the College is able to identify and attract those who are exceptional by even the University’s standard. In essence, the handful of shoo-ins accepted everywhere — like their more mortal counterparts — almost certainly choose Harvard at a disproportionately high rate.

Still, the bigger picture is nothing more than a very good school full of strong but not exceptional students with robust academics, though Harvard’s reputation suggests something far more exceptional.

Herein lies a powerful paradox: As education democratizes and more qualified candidates flood the system, the perceived value of a Harvard degree inflates while its educational value diminishes.

On one hand, increasing competition over and desire for excellence heighten the importance of Harvard’s brand. On the other, the comparable quality of education provided by other institutions and the sheer number of qualified students has made Harvard far less unique in practice. In some sense, it’s a vicious cycle — as colleges converge in quality, brand becomes the distinguishing factor.

It’s often said that a myth is only as strong as the belief that sustains it. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a decade, perhaps in a century, society will cease to believe in the myth of Harvard.

Or perhaps it never will.

Isaac R. Mansell ’26, a Crimson Editorial editor, is a Statistics concentrator in Kirkland House.